by Tim Major
His long fingers rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They were taken at night,” he continued, speaking more slowly. “For years, that was as much as I knew. The Skins knew nothing about it, either. I was able to speak to them individually in the course of my duties, and it was clear they were oblivious. But in journalistic terms, I’m a bad source, Gerry. I still don’t know what was done.”
“But what do you suspect?”
“Tests. I heard the word used by the senior nurses. Night after night. I think that the Skins are being studied. I think that’s partly what January is for.”
It began to rain. Gerry flicked on the wipers. “Ayo, Snakeskins are the most amazing phenomena. Isn’t it only natural… I mean, if that’s all that was happening…”
“You have to remember that these tests were a secret. And the mood amongst senior staff became more desperate. Whenever Scaife took calls from GBP top brass, she came out of her office looking pale as anything.”
“The Party ordered the tests.” Gerry thought of Zemma Finch, begging her to return to Folk. Paying through the nose for a scoop about the workings of government.
Ayo shrugged. “Anyway. You misunderstand me. The nightly tests were only the first indication that something was wrong. If that aspect of the care home went unreported in official updates, I figured there might be more. I started looking out for clues.”
Tink-thunk. Tink-thunk. Gerry watched the windscreen wipers. She stayed silent to give him time to find the right words.
“It seems obvious, with hindsight,” Ayo said. “A building full of Skins, all waiting for the end. And none of us nurses ever witnessed them ash.”
Gerry swerved the car and swore. “Never? What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you what I know. I’m trying not to add anything that I’m not certain about. The Skins were taken away from their rooms, every night, for tests. And then, at different times, each of them was taken away at night, but didn’t return. And that’s why I interrupted what was about to happen in Scaife’s office.”
“They were murdered.” She had meant it to be a question, but it didn’t sound or feel like one.
“Like I say. I’m telling you what I know, not the conclusion. Their rooms were empty in the morning, and we junior staff were informed that the Skin ashed in the night, of course. I never searched for traces of ash. Maybe, deep down, I wanted to believe Scaife and the others. I couldn’t let myself believe that somebody might do what I thought they’d done, just to save money. But if I’m right, then I’ve got blood on my hands.”
Gerry tried to disguise her breathlessness. “That’s some story.”
Ayo didn’t reply. He appeared lost in his thoughts and gave only perfunctory instructions as they neared Abingdon. Gerry slowed the car to a crawl as they entered the cul-de-sac where Dodie Hope lived. She pulled up to the kerb and the two of them walked in silence towards the ring of semi-detached houses.
* * *
Caitlin thanked Dodie again as she took the offered carrier bag. Inside were packets of crisps, bottles of water and a clear plastic box crammed with sandwiches.
“You’re certain you’ll be all right?” Dodie said.
Caitlin turned to Kit. “What do you think? Will we be all right?”
“More than.” Kit took Caitlin’s arm and Caitlin barely shuddered at her touch.
Dodie pointed at the timetable that hung beneath the Radley station sign. “Change at Oxford, then take any train heading north. Manchester, Glasgow, wherever. The world’s your oyster, as long as it’s an oyster far away from here. It’s for the best if you don’t tell me where you’re thinking of going.”
Caitlin tried not to think through the implications of Dodie’s words. Would anybody really threaten this old woman, just to get their hands on Kit? Of course, she understood that the escape would be an embarrassment to the January care home. But they treated Snakeskins with such disdain that it was difficult to imagine them mounting a search party.
She and Kit had been inside Dodie’s house for only a couple of hours. As promised, Caitlin had been shown the studio and gallery upstairs. She had been overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of artworks Dodie and her Skins had completed together: paintings in a range of styles from pointillist landscapes to portraits in hard, black lines; enormous tureens and vases adorned with sculpted flowers; carved, hollow wooden balls that contained other balls in concentric puzzles; dioramas of dolls, driftwood and flotsam in wooden boxes fixed to the walls. She wondered if she might ever be nearly as productive, even if she had twice the number of Skins to work alongside her. Dodie’s Skins gave no impression of feeling trapped. They seemed content living their peculiar lives.
Dodie – or rather, one of the Dodies – had given Caitlin a change of clothes to replace her blue smock. As they had left the house Caitlin had pulled the hood of her blue tracksuit top over her head. Kit had offered to take her turn in the boot of the car.
Dodie turned to leave.
“You won’t wave us off?” Kit said.
“Best if you work on looking as normal as possible.” She tapped her hunting hat. “Some might say I’m memorable. You girls may be as cute as buttons, but you’ll pass as sisters as long as you avoid drawing attention. Good luck, girls.” Her gaze settled on Kit. “Look after her, won’t you?”
“I’m the originator,” Caitlin said, frowning. “She’s the Skin.”
Dodie smiled. “I know.”
She turned and strolled along the platform.
The lack of Dodie’s presence made Caitlin feel instantly adrift. Having Kit beside her only made her feel more alone.
Kit took her hand. She still wore Janet Hext’s ivy-patterned dress, although she had twice offered to switch and wear the tracksuit instead. Caitlin had refused, but she regretted it now.
“So,” Kit said. “Do we need to figure out where we’re going?”
Caitlin stared into Kit’s eyes. Did her own shine so much?
“I think we both know where we’re going.”
* * *
When Ellis’s Skins had talked about the necessity for sacrifice, Russell had assumed correctly that they were trying to talk him into something. But it was soon clear that his wouldn’t be the only sacrifice. After explaining the nature of Russell’s first duty, Nell had retreated to grip the hand of one of the Skins – Peter? Another of them, Clive, had stepped forwards to accompany Russell. It was Clive, not Russell, whose shoulders were patted and who received sympathetic looks from the other Skins and a teary blotch on his white shirt from Nell.
The door of the den closed behind them. Russell walked ahead and Clive plodded behind, ascending the stairs as slowly as somebody condemned to be hanged. As the Skin followed Russell through the outer door of the kitchen he shivered, even though the air outside wasn’t cold. He padded onto the lawn and gazed up at the stars for several minutes. Russell shivered too.
Russell hesitated at the threshold of the lean-to workshop until Clive pushed him gently inside. They stood together before the charred-black tree sculpture. The sapling that Nell had revealed within the trunk looked like a tendon, taut and fragile. Bile rose in Russell’s throat.
Clive stood beside the rack of hanging tools and waited in silence as Russell retrieved the saw.
“Why you?” Russell said.
Clive shrugged.
“There must be a reason.” Russell realised that he was playing for time, delaying the inevitable. “Were you his first?”
“His second. I understand your logic. The first would be next in line to take the blame for Ellis’s actions. Peter volunteered but I wouldn’t let him. Please, Russell, we must hurry.”
“There must be another way.” Russell bounced the saw, getting the measure of its weight.
Clive didn’t reply. Despite Clive appearing identical to Ellis Blackwood, a man he now despised, Russell wished he had the courage to embrace him.
The Skin shook his head. He deposited a set of keys into Russell’s pa
lm. “Nell’s car,” he said. “In the circumstances, you’d better drive.”
It was a joke, but it made Russell feel physically sick. He looked down at the saw and then at Clive’s left leg.
“Do it now,” Clive said. “And do it quickly.”
***
Gerry slumped into the driver’s seat. When Ayo didn’t enter the car, she rapped on the window. He got in.
“What the hell was that about?” she said.
While it had been clear that Dodie had recognised Ayo, she had given no suggestion of having remembered meeting Gerry at the care home. Her expression had been one of horror and the only thing she had said was, “They’re not here. Leave them be.” Then she had closed the door firmly.
“We shouldn’t have come,” Ayo said forlornly.
“But it was our only chance of finding out where Caitlin and Kit are.”
His swollen eye made his glare even more accusatory. “We could be endangering them both. Dodie Hope, too.”
“Nobody knows we’re here.”
“You don’t know that. We should go.”
“Not yet. Let me think.”
From the look in Dodie Hope’s eyes, Gerry was convinced she was telling the truth. Caitlin Hext and her Skin weren’t in the house. Gerry didn’t hold out any hope that she would reveal their destination under any amount of questioning.
Ayo’s clenching and unclenching hands distracted her from her thoughts. “I need to think out loud,” she said. “Okay?”
“Whatever it takes to make you agree to move this car.”
“Let’s start with January and your suspicions, which I happen to believe are well-founded.”
Ayo closed his eyes. Clearly, he still suffered from an enormous amount of guilt. For how many years had he had these concerns about what happened to the Skins each night, without taking action?
“These tests. What were they actually for?”
“To find out what makes a duplicate different from humans. I guess.”
Gerry nodded. “That, yes. But track back a bit.”
“They’ve been trying to learn what makes originators produce a duplicate in the first place.”
“Good. Hold that thought. Back to the killings. Sorry – the alleged killings.” There were implications that even Ayo hadn’t considered. “Here’s the thing. Let’s assume that you’re right – that Scaife and her staff have been in the habit of killing Skins. But you said that you never saw a Skin turn to ash. Which suggests that…”
There could be little point in going to the trouble of euthanising somebody who was only hours or days away from disappearing spontaneously in a cloud of dust.
“Christ. I hadn’t even thought about it. It suggests that they wouldn’t have dispersed. At least, not nearly as quickly.”
“Exactly. Charmers are even more charmed than we suspected. Everything we thought we knew about Skins is unravelling. For now, I’m going with the alarming possibility that Skins – or, at least, some proportion of them – don’t ash spontaneously. Or, if they do, it takes longer than advertised. So the January staff give them a bit of a nudge to pass over to the other side. It’s a good story.”
“A good story? That’s it? Listen, I made a judgement about you when we first met. That you weren’t a hack.”
Gerry waved a hand, trying to concentrate. “There’s more. It doesn’t make sense, you see. So Scaife, or rather the Great British Prosperity Party, decides to bump off Skins because they’re taking too long to die. There are a handful of motives. The simplest one is your conclusion – money. Upkeep of Skins costs money. Killing them, particularly the ones who don’t have families and whose deaths won’t even be reported, saves money.”
“No.”
“No. It’s not enough. For one thing, January’s rolling in cash. My mysterious source tipped me off about that.”
Ayo’s eyes narrowed.
“Never mind. So what’s the alternative explanation for curtailing Skins’ lifespans?”
Ayo chewed on a thumbnail. “There’s only one answer. To keep up the pretence.”
“Of?”
“Of the idea that spontaneous duplicates expire soon after a shedding. Because that makes them less threatening to the public. It makes Snakeskins only sideshow oddities. People that don’t need to be considered as people.”
“Bingo. You have the makings of a decent journalist.”
“Thanks. Now, please – will you drive this car? I just want to go home.”
Gerry couldn’t understand how anybody could pass up the chance to follow a mystery like this. “Fine. Home it is.”
She circled the car around, taking a last look at Dodie’s house before they left the cul-de-sac.
Ayo turned in his seat to look through the rear window.
“Oh Christ.”
Gerry twisted to see. A black Bentley pulled out of the driveway of one of the houses at the mouth of the cul-de-sac. It was the same car that she had seen at the Hext house.
Immediately, she jammed her foot onto the accelerator. Ayo yelped as his head was thrown back. The houses became a blur. Gerry yanked the steering wheel and the car tipped violently as she took a right turn onto the main road.
The Bentley in the rear-view mirror only grew in size.
“We have to get out of these empty streets,” she muttered. “Get us somewhere where there’ll be more traffic.”
Ayo fumbled with the folded map. “Go right, then right again. Almost doubling back behind the cul-de-sac. There’s a crossroads.”
Without warning, Gerry swung the car into a residential street that ran parallel to the main road, separated only by a bank of grass. The pursuing car responded immediately to follow them. She willed somebody to emerge from one of the houses on the street, pulling out in a car or taking out a bin. The thought surprised her. Would she really be happy to endanger innocent people?
The side street curled to join the main road, like a tributary flowing into a river. Ayo clung onto the handle above the passenger door with both hands. It was clear that he was utterly terrified.
In contrast, Gerry felt a strange sense of calm. Adrenalin had always helped her think clearly. The only times she ever made use of her expensive gym membership was when she was in the midst of a complex investigation. Unlike most workaholic journalists that she knew, following a story that consumed her had the result of making her fitter and healthier.
“They’re going to kill her,” she muttered. The road ahead was straight, but she weaved the car from one side of the lane to the other, hoping to at least confuse their pursuers.
“Yes, they are,” Ayo replied.
“Don’t talk. They’re going to kill the Skin, but not because of the embarrassment. You said it yourself – Kit didn’t know about the tests or how close she came to death.”
Ayo only gulped noisily as Gerry swerved the car right at the junction, narrowly missing a postbox on the corner.
“The Party ordered her death, ahead of schedule. And that’s because—” She grunted as she overtook a slow-moving delivery van with a driver whose head was bent low to examine the house numbers. She checked the rear-view mirror. The black Bentley traced a smooth arc around the van, too. “Because the Hext family is special, for some reason.”
Despite his panic, Ayo said, “Special in what way?”
“Don’t know. I think at least one of their ancestors got a bigger dose from the Fall than any of the Ilam villagers. Who knows what that might mean.”
Ayo winced as the car swerved to avoid a pedestrian. “And Caitlin?”
“Whatever it is, I don’t think Caitlin herself knows. All I know is she’s the last of the Hext line. At least, she will be once her Skin’s dispatched.”
She sensed Ayo staring at her. She didn’t dare look away from the road.
The car bucked suddenly. The Bentley loomed large in the mirror – it had rammed the rear bumper.
“Where’s this crossroads of yours?” she said.
�
�Up ahead. You’re not going to do anything stupid?”
“Quite the opposite. I’m going to do something immensely stupid.”
The road widened. The Bentley accelerated, pulling into the opposite lane of traffic and drawing almost level with Gerry’s car. Though its windows were tinted, she could see the outlines of two people up front and another in the back seat.
“This bugger won’t go any faster,” she muttered.
The crossroads appeared up ahead. Twin traffic lights shone red.
“Hold on tight.”
The tall bushes outside the houses on the junction blocked her view of the perpendicular traffic. Never mind – it was better to work blind, to stop her having second thoughts.
The car burst onto the crossroads. Immediately, horns blared and Gerry heard the squeals of tyres as other cars swerved out of the way. At first, the sounds were the only evidence of the havoc she was causing. It was only when she checked the rear-view mirror that she saw two vehicles tear diagonally across her wake, like splinters in the aftermath of a bullet fired through a plank of wood.
The Bentley missed the first of the obstacles, but its bumper tipped the wing of the second car. To Gerry’s relief, it spun off at an angle rather than colliding full-on. Two more vehicles came to a sudden halt, preventing the black saloon from finding a route through the melee. The Bentley weaved madly through this newly formed maze, hurtled across the remaining distance to the opposite side of the crossroads. Then it collided with a tree.
Gerry’s eyes flicked to the road ahead: It was clear. In the rear-view mirror she saw smoke pluming from the bonnet of the Bentley.
“Pull over,” Ayo said. To her surprise, his voice was unwavering.
“Are you kidding?”
“Pull over right now. I’m medically trained. I’m not going to leave them.”
“They were trying to kill us.”
“They won’t do it with everybody watching.”